A Sovereign to Rebel
by ZodiarkSavior
Summary: An possible insight into Syndra, the Dark Sovereign's thoughts and intentions around her choices.


Clandestine between the peaks and crevices of the ocean of skyward clouds, a landmass cradling the pristine walls of the Celestial Fortress remains suspended, resolute in its glorifying loom above Ionia.

It was once a peaceful monastery for unique individuals; a place of refuge and respite for the talented to hone their skills and be guided for pure purpose. Yet now, the place is hollow, hanging solely by the threads of will dangled by its overlord. The stage was static, not even a single fluff cloud penetrating the atmosphere despite a storm raging around it. Said storm was bitter, fierce and cruel, yet not even a single droplet of rain or lightning lashed the monastery's perfect walls.

The Dark Sovereign is content with what she had liberated for domicile, garments fluttering behind in her glide towards an Ionian edifice housing chronicles recorded by the monks who were predecessor of this place.

With pride, Syndra wore the Ionian Crest, fixated to her forehead, like a crown – a mocking of all Ionian traditions and religions: Blatant Disrespect. Such ornaments were meant to hover peacefully behind the occipital.

A clash of thunder boomed, the Dark Sovereign unflinching.

Gray sunlight poured into the littered chamber she arrived; scrolls that were deemed useless and uninformative decorating the floor. With another flash of lightning, one could briefly see their pages to be ruffled and torn by impatience for whatever knowledge.

This chore was a complete waste of time, Syndra decided. It was apparent that the monks kept no information detailing _any_ peculiar usage of magic. Not a single scrap of information within mountains of scrolls. With a thought, the documents are hastily funneled out of a nearby window, soon to be ravaged to shreds in the ferocity of the storm once they descended far enough.

It was understandable, she observed with slight amusement. Imagine what catastrophes would take place should someone of potential stumble upon it – Someone such as her. A flash of anger creased her brow, yet it was dispelled as soon as it came.

In a few moments, Syndra arrives in the middle of an enormous courtyard bordered by a beautiful bed of flowers containing whirls of countless colors. The courtyard had once brandished a mural on its floor depicting the sigil of the Ionian Government, yet its pristine marbled floors had long since been destroyed; smashed and shattered beyond any recognition.

Not one could say this was the hand of time. Time did not create perfectly sharpened craters and cracks. This was the work of someone's frustration with a precise control over their power.

Under a blinking moment, the camouflaged magic energy that lingered throughout the air was drawn into a remote vacuum, the air snapping upon the emergence of a Dark Sphere; the processed result of rapid compressions and refineries into something _pure. _

The manifestations of the raw magical power were admirable. Their auras flared with dark energy as if acknowledging the admiration.

Though inorganic and insentient, their presence was….enjoyable. They provided comfort, spiriting away all other thoughts. They acted as catalysts for whatever was willed; precise concentration requesting of them what to influence.

Such comfort caused her hold over Celestial Fortress' atmosphere to falter: Heavy droplets of rain splashed onto flower petals and into the ground-ridden cracks of the destroyed mural. Concentrating once more, the deluge halts.

Breathing deeply, the ground rips apart when she wished a Dark Sphere to form underneath; this method was one of her favorite for destruction:

Magic flowed throughout all things: Trees, Buildings, the earth…Humans. It did not matter where.

Willing a Dark Sphere to materialize in the center of a tree caused it to splinter and snap, buildings to crack and crumble, the ground to rip and pit. Humans…_People_? She did not know.

The thoughts were invigorating though; relishing her in such sensations.

Deciding to take a break, she ceases her destruction as the Spheres brush the spaces between her fingers. Radiations of some unknown energy lined her veins as they neared; compulsions to do something…_Greater._ Syndra smirked with pleasure.

The world existed as a variable playground; permission to alter it under her complete order.

Order. _Order._ The word fractured her mood as memories intruded her mind. The aggravation caused by those memories caused the Dark Spheres to warp promptly away from sight…Only for them to reappear in the middle of the Library she had just exited earliest today. The violent, sudden crashing of the building could be heard from afar as its wooden pillars and supports were completely from misbalance.

Fingers harshly curled around the Dark Spheres when they reappeared, the force of her grip causing their bodies to seep between her fingers when she balled them into a fist.

Balance. Peace. Order. _Restraint._

For years the monks had deceived her with alluring teases promising complete nurture, growth and prosperity of her _gift. _That's what the monks had preached to her about her influence over magic, anyways. Unbelievably, the young Syndra gladly accepted their lies, despite realizing she alone was the only child within the_ entirety _of Ionia to be drafted into such an institution. The friends she had come to meet were happily discarded so she could evolve her gift.

For years she blissfully danced, partnered power entwining her in its warmth. Yet, after years it did not grow. She had learned absolutely nothing; only the teachings and traditions regarding Ionian culture, religion and etiquette. Later, Syndra learned that the monks that served as wardens were the ones causing her slow to _sterility._ Not flourish.

Upon direct confrontation, the plot of magically lobotomize her upon refusal of adherence was unveiled. They willed her to become a pitifully weak mage of Ionia, only to tap into her gifts when she was _permitted_ to; those moments were seldom, since the practicing of magic in all – in _any_ form was regarded as a disruption of _balance._

As the monk stood stern, his eyes were filled with emotion but Syndra could not tell what his thoughts were. Shock had consumed her, fear plaguing her eyes, desperate excuses swarming inside of her mind. Allow them governance or…Suffer idling away the rest of life without the one thing she truly loved; the endearing magic that had accompanied her since birth.

In their eyes, what use was a mentally unbalanced girl that could spell disaster? That's all she was to them; a tool to be used for only ceremonies and religious affairs.

The monk's blood was painted upon the walls, result of desperation as well as shock. His frail bones could not resist her power. When his life was gone, the shackles binding her mind were released, granting a true sense of freedom. To separate from those who had hoped to restrain her, the monastery was lifted far above the grasp of Ionia; leagues into the sky.

A familiar tug on the mind halted her from brooding any longer, a recognizable sensation.

The Summoner's Call. A recent, familiar memory replayed itself into Syndra's thoughts as she wistfully gazed into space.

Months ago, the unlocking of one of the chambers forbidden to her revealed to be a colossal, hexagonal structure, each point housing a marbled, humanoid statue floating above faint stone holding a staff. In the middle of the object, lied a gargantuan levitating crystal the figures seemed to be preaching to.

Realizing the artifact was indeed dormant, it was an easy task invigorating it with arcane energies.  
Unfortunately for Syndra, the task did not go unnoticed, as a group of cloaked individuals and others people soon made their way through.

They revealed to her the definition of a Nexus, as well as other details pertaining to the League of Legends and how it is the central core for political affairs throughout the entirety of the world.

Including Ionia.

By means of the League of Legends, Syndra could request participation for matches in opposition of Ionia, eventually worming her way to the inevitable destruction of its leaders as well as the obtaining of influence for her to do so.

They preached about balance and prosperity yet did everything in their power to halt everything to a crawl. How many others were successors to the fate she had almost suffered? What lives were annihilated under refusal of such foolish ideals? What joys, squelched? Sorrows wrought? Minds _coerced?_

After that, it wasn't long before Syndra become a Champion of the League. Frequently, they would Summon her to one of many of the Fields of Justice to solve a political dispute of the sort.

Because of how easy it was to override the mental restrains of a Junior Summoner's hold over her mind, only the most senior were allowed to wield the power she commanded.

Syndra did so with great reluctance; conceding only upon realization that the Fields of Justice were the perfect place to unleash the full brunt of her power. She did not need to worry about further tarnishing the Celestial Fortress during exercises.

The tugging of the mind turned into a strong pull. Sighing, Syndra allowed herself to be teleported, paying no heed to the allied Champions the stood amongst in the conference room.

Ionia would be obliterated for their hypocrisy and fallacies. A fitting price to pay.

The League of Legends had dubbed her _the Dark Sovereign_. A sinister title Syndra wore with great pride. For no one would arrest her reprisal. **No one.**

* * *

**Critique and Review, thank you!  
**

**Unrelated Authors note: I've been entertaining crossing Syndra into the Kingdom Hearts universe? Would you like to see it?**


End file.
